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Edith Nesbit - Betrayed
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I WENT back to our home to-day 
    That still its robe of roses wore; 
My feet took the old easy way, 
    And led me to our door. 


And you are gone and never more 
    Those little feet of yours will come 
To meet me at the open door, 
    The threshold of our home. 


The door unlatched did not protest: 
    I entered, and the silence drew 
My steps towards the little nest 
    That once I shared with you.


There lay your fan, your open book, 
    Your seam half-sewn, and I could see 
The window whence you used to look-- 
    Yes, once you looked--for me. 


Print of your little head caressed 
    Our pillow still, and on the floor 
Still lay, dropped there when last you dressed, 
    The scarf and rose you wore. 


All should have spoken of you plain, 
    Yet, when I bade the silence tell 
Of you, my bidding was in vain, 
    I could not break its spell. 


The silence would not speak, my dear, 
    Till the last level light grew dim; 
Then, in the twilight I could hear; 
    The silence spoke--of him.
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